QUILL AND QUAIR

Morehead State Teachers College

VOLUME VII

Morehead, Kentucky

MAY. 1941

JOHNSON CAMDEN LIBRARY MOREHEAD STATE UNIVERSITY

MOREHEAD, KENTUCKY

NO.3

"YOU SAVVY

QUICK,

SOLDIER'"

D AD ought 10 know. Look at the w;l lI bc.hind him. Phoro of Oad. !>traighl and proud in old-style choke r­

co llar blouse. Sli m Browne bell. and second " looie's" go ld bar!>. And hi s dcco rat ion ~-(hc Ordcr of the Purple I-Ieart, Viclory Medal , Croix de Guerre It'i lb palm.

" You savvy qui ck. so ldier."' he says (0 hi s son as th :lt ch ip off th e old h lock in (he new un ifo rm proffers Camcl~. "These were p racli caH} ' regu lation' l'iga rcftcs w ilh the army men I knew. Lots of other thing, Iocc m to have changed. but lIot a so l d i er '~ 's mc kin 's,' ..

Right! Today , and for more theln 20 y e a rs, r e porh from

Arm y Post Ex changes show that Camels a re t h e fl:lv o ritc .

And in Na vy ca n tee n s , too, Came l is th e le ad e r .

JUSt scentS th at Came ls click with more people than an}' o lh e r ciga rctte- whethe r [her ' rc wea ri ng 0 .0., blues. o r c iv"ic ... You 'lI "nv\ y, tOO -and qui ck - wi th you r firH puff o f a slowe r-bllrn ing C IOlel \\ it h il ., ex n a mildness, extra cooJnc~~, an I ex tra flavo r. wh}" it 's the " front-line" cir;areue - r:I ~ I . prc~cnt, and fU lUrc !

THE SMOKE OF SLOWER-BURNING CAMELS GIVES YOU EXTRA MILDNESS, EXTRA COOL JESS , EXTRA FLA.VOR AND

o LESS NICOTINE than the average of the 4 Olher largest-selling cigare"es tested-less than any of them-according to independ ent scien tific tests oj the smoke itself

• \Vhat cic:arenc arc yO ll smoking now? T he odds a re that it 's o ne o f those included in the famous " nicot ine - in - the-smoke" laho rator y tcst. Camels, and fou r ot her la rges t-selli ng brands. were an~tlyzed and compared .. . over and over again . . . fo r nicoti ne contcn t ill 'be sm oke itselfl And w hen all is said and done. the th ing that jnccrcsts you in a cigarette is the smoke.

YES, SIR, THE SMOKE'S THE THING! SMOKE CAMElS!

CAMEL THE CIGARETTE OF COSTLIER TOBACCOS

auy CAMUS IT THE CARTO N

- . OR CONVENIENCE, .OR ECONOMY

BY DURN I NG 25 % SLQ\'(' ER tha n the avc rage of [he 4 o lher lar<:cs[·selling hrllnds ICSlcd - slower th un any of them - Camels a lso gi "e yo u a smoki ng PillS equal . o n (h e ave rage, to

5 EXTRA S MOKES PER PA C K !

It J . 1I ~)""'1<I > Tub." .... \ '"",,,I'll' W I II. \" n · ";3Irm. :>OQt/ h \ ·M ,QII " .

QUILL AND QUAIR PUBLICATION OF

THE ENGLISH MAJORS CLUB

Morehead State Teachers College

VOLUME VII

Morehead, Kentucky

MAY. 1941

JOHNSON CAMDEN LIBRARY MOREHEAD STATE UNIVERSITY

MOREHEAD, KENTUCKY

NO. 3

English Majors Club Irene McLin Keller, President

Daisy Arnett Dorothy Bailer Mona Roe Combs Ma rjorie Cox Loena Fyffe Na nnie Walters Hall

Da,·id J ohnson Garnet Vilughan J . W. Long Eu gene McClure Jack Mille,· Carol Patrick

Lavina \Vate rs, Secreta ry

Isabe l Popc Kan e Sally Betty Smith

.Jcwe l Stephenson harles Th omas

Dorothy Turn er

Issue Editor: Mona Hoc Combs

Faculty Sponsors: Inez Faith Humphrey, Fred A. Dudley

Q & Q

Contents Poems--Ga.rn et Vaug han Kan e - - - - - - - - - - - - - _ 3 Poems--Sa lly Betty Smith - - - - - - - - - - - - - _ _ 5 The Swan--Marjorie Brandhorst - - - - - - - - - - - - _ _ 5 Camp Meeting--Lavina Water · - - - - - - - - - - - _ _ _ 6 The Empty House--Ly le Abrams - - - - - - - - - - - _ _ 7 Poems--Kay Palmer - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - _ 8 Spring Will Come--J ames Stua,t - - - - - - _. - - - - _ _ 9 Friendship--Paul Wheeler - - - - - - - - - -.- -- --. - _ _ 11

Grand Canyon National Pa rk--~ilza nn e Chun:, - - - - - - _ _ 11 Homeward Thought--Ruth Steele - - - - - - - - - - - _ _ 12 Spring Feve r--Two Versions

I--Grace Ray l - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - __ 13 II--Beverly Varney - - - - - - - - - - - - - - _ _ 13

My Son, My Son--M er ve l Hanes - - - - - - - - - _ _ _ _ 14 Poems--Dorothy Turner - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - _ _ 15 Poems For Children

Susy's Chores--Rebecca Cassady - - - - - - - - - - - 16 Ed and I--Eunice Lewis - - - - - - - - - - - - _ _ 16 Drinking Cup Animals--J eanette Thomas - - - - - - 17 Who Am 17-Eleanor Bowling - - - - - - - - - - - 17

Confidante--Francis Proctor - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 18 I Listen With My Eyes--Sall y Betty Smith - - - - - - - - - 19 Dory Died--Ruth Steele - - - - - - - - - - - - - - _ _ 20 Book Reviews - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - _ _ 20 The Strik e--Edward Cline - - - - - - _. - - - - - - - - - 22 Among Our Contributors--Jack Mill er - - - - - - - - - - - 23 Ode to the Mountains--J essie Ste wart - - - - - - - - - - - - 24

QUILL AND QU AIR Volume VII May, 1941

Poems by Garnet Vaughan Kane

Mountain Women

Oh you mountain women Who d'rink so deep of life,

Yours is the tall glass

Of coo l spring wa ter.

1 sa lute you, mountain women

With your tanned cheeks and stringy hair; With brown hands call oused by a hickory well sweep

You draw water, feed the chickens, milk the cows; You hoe corn on a steep hillside under a blazing July sun.

Oh. you mountain women with your lined. wind-stung face. Care and worry plow deep furrows at your mouth and eyes; Your body sags, your breasts and your hips,

From unattended childbirth.

You are uncomplaining and submissive To that hardened mountain man whose chi ldren you bore;

His people are your people. R eady you stand with him to defend the f rui ts of your passion; For them 'you want th e best in life,

No. 3

For yourself a hillside farm and str ength to labor from dawn to dusk.

God bless you, mountain women. For yours is the pure stock ; You are the mother of the strong men a nd the brave women

of tomorrow ; Love th em and raise them well.

Destiny On Painl Creek

rve abided here these many year On proud, steep cliffs towering above Paint Creek; I grew up with the willows whr.oe dro op ing branches sway To drink the muddy waters of Paint. I clim~ed rocky ledges ginsengiug, Or in qu est of chipped flint arrow h eads. I drove cattle across the pebbled bed of Paint Creek in summer From pasture on the grassy benches of lonesome hill s; Stripping to t he s kin in dark , thick undergrowth, I learned to swim in pools dammed up with bou lden;, And hairy moss gathered from near-~y hillsides.

My life flows on like Paint Creek rushing to meet Big Sandy; Soon no longer will I watch tadpoles change to huH-frogs Or wade in sandy, red pebbled waters; Paint Creek will dry up every summer long aIter I am gonC'. But I, t he human sapling, will be laid low Forever in the silent to ld of ear th.

Indian KnoUs [n An Angus! Dusk

There in the grove of the rough-leafed e lm and s li ppery-leafed black g um

Stand centuries-old twill knolls, a monum ent to a mighty race,

Long disappeared before the broad-side axe feHed the first tree in this land of the meadows,

Long before history, the stylus of time, blazed a faint dim trail through virgin wi ld erness.

Ca lm and peaceful in an August dusk, still guard an age-old c hieftain, t he sapling-slim body of a red-lipped princess,

Or- the arrow-pierced body of a brave valiant in battle.

Here in t he dim g,-ave Man has not r ohbed your ancient dead.

Proud and aloof, yo u are the fir-m full breasts of trw earth ly mother of us all,

A bosom covered with tile wild sweet mint alld purple wood sorrel.

Stand forever, defiant and brave,

Fill the heart of generations to come With a love fol' the power and the grit of the earth.

QTJILL & QUAlR

Poems by Sally Betty Smith

The W illd AII.I I

I sa IV the wind Come running through the yalley And stop in our silver maple tree Turning upward the white undersides Cof t '-ery tiny green leaf. Jt ~wept on-and then Came back, riffling the lea" e8 again With a slow. searching touch. I sa id with a small dry smile, "You won't find what you're looking for-­T know. I looked too, long ago. But don't stop. There might be something there That you didn 't know you wanted."

Conlloas t

At night When I was young, I heard the whippoorwill's cry, Moths beating the window And roosters at midnight.

Now I am old, And I hear the clock Tn the n ext room, Ticking off seconds, minutes, and hou rs_

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The Swan

Mal·jode Bralldhorsl

The lights were dimmed, the audience was still, the pianist struck lhe first note, and the violinist raised her bow_ It was a moment of suspense, but only a mom ent, broken by the soft rippling strains of "The Swan ," by C. Saint-Saens. The pianist played the first few meas­ures in solo, and as she moved her nimble f ingers up and down the k ey­board, I could picture the rippling water of a narrow brook weaving like a sil ver thread through the greenness of a meadow. Th en the sweet strains of the violi n cbbJigato f itted themselves wit h perfect

MAY, 1941

G

harmony i·"to the beautiful mrnotony cf the piano s Ie. Like a ""-an fearful of disturbing the steady ripple of the stream, thp. violinist soft­ly, slowlY , ~nd cautic.usly appea red in the musical p;ct'Jre.

SittiJ.g there with my eyes closed. I thought nething couid be mom beautiful. Th en at the sound of soft sio3 ing, I gazed up tJward the stage. At least twenty girls dressed entre.ly in ",hire were sitting in a group, their skirts spread out around them accentuating the multi­shad es of their hair, with th e erfect of colored dots on clea r white paper. The stage was dark ened except for a faint, indirect red light­ing at the extreme, ear. The girls seemed more immortal than hum an. Their lips barely moved as t hey cha nted the beautiful words to this even more beautiful meledy. This, at last, was perfection. Not a quality was missing--a beauliful composition, a piano. a violin, twenly sweet you ng vo ices, a nd II setting su ited to all. The audience was. tense--not a sound fer seve "al minutes. Every ooe seemed to be afraid to breathe.

Slowly the swan g lid ed do-wn the stream out of sight; the water settled back iota its smooth ripple. and the composition was at an end . For a second the spectalors sat perfectly still. seemingly afraid to break the spell the music had created . Then like a thunderbolt they broke into "pplause. Those rare moments of perfection ended as abruptly ItS the calm of the sea is ended by a storm. but th is presenla­lion of "The Swan" by the Oberlin College Glee Club leave a mem I'y ,-hich musie lo\-ers wi![ alwa,r.; cling to.

Q&Q

Camp Meeting

Lavina 'Vaters,

When I was probably eight years old, as I rem ember it.. r was seized ,vith such ardent religious zeal that my mother was almost convinced that her life long hopes for one Co f her ch ildren to take up missionary work would be realized by me, lhe youngest of her brood. For days I walked about the house with a pious air, humming doleful church tunes, and even spending ten minutes at a time scanning the Bible!

My saintly attitude bad been pr mpted and kindled by the arrival in town of a revival troupe--a corps of tinny trumpeters, piano hangers, and banjo pluckers, a hu ky-voiced, red-faced preacher, and his perox­ide blonde wife, all under a big circus tent in a vacant lot on Main Street. At first, I had known of this wonderful company only through my little schoolmates, who banded together at recess time to argue. Protestantism against t be "Hellfulness" of Catholicism, or to puzzle over the red-faced evangelist's warnings of anti-Christ.

My enthusiasm was so aroused that I was in a proper state of mind

QUILL & QUAIR

to be emotionally impreE~ed on lhe night when mother allowed me to go to the revival while she attended J,.astern Star meeting. The opening hour of jazzy songs and "te~timf.nies" by the congregation had me afire inside even before the preacher began his two-hours' ranting. But I cannot express the wringings ~nd twistings of my soul as he told, dram­atically, of actual cases wh en J;ec.ple had dlopped dead in front of him for "denying the call of lhe Lord "! Then, I was almost overcome with a realization of the power of God as I saw the town drunks get con­verted, and watched the sympathetic congregation kneel and sway and weep and cry out "Praise the Lord!" in time with the mournful in vita, lion hymn! When, after h'l urs (.f this emotional tensity, I finally got home to bed, I stayed a wake all night wondering if the multitude of sins 1 had committed in my eight yeal 5 of li ving could even be forgiven!

For the next two weeks, while t he revival troupe held their nightly meetings, I was a regular attendant and a devvted follower-just as I became a regular attendant and admirer of the street carnival which occupied the vacant lot on Main StI'eet after the gospel troupe left town!

Q&Q

The Empty House Lyle Alwums

Something was wrong. She wasn't there to meet him. Always before she had met him at the door. He ran up the walk, opened the door and called her name. a answer; only his echo rang from rOOm to room. No answer. He went frem room to room, the house seemed to become larger, larger and quieter.

Where could she be? he had kissed him when he left this morn-ing. No. she hadn 't been mad at him. Yesterday' He had done something yesterday that she did not like. Maybe she had left him.

Big tears started to roll down his cheeks. Just one on each side. Now and then the biggest of men cry a little. He rubbed his eyes, "niffJed and started up the stair. Maybe. he hoped, she was asleep in her bed. He walked very, very softly so he wouldn't wake her. He opened the door with such a little noise, hardly any noise at all. Peeking around the door--GONE--GONE. She was gone. Now the tears came a little faster, just a little faster. Why, you prob­ably would cry too. He didn't understand. He looked in t he closet and her coat was gone, gone. shel had gone away.

Someone opened th~ side door and called his name. He ran like the wind, two steps at a time, around the' big table to the kitchen. She was there' With a cry of joy he ran to her outstretched arms.

"Why, darling '" she said, "Mother just went to the store. How }Vas your third day of kindergarten? "

MAY, 1941

8

P.oems hy Kay Palmer: Asbes ;

The fire dims ·

Our hopes lie cold :

Dreams are ashes ·

Never : to kno\\\ :

The heat of life ·

The ·warmth· of fulfillm ent: .

Rernernb'-dlttc

Who ean f6rgeLwith remembrance in every. footfall; .

Every look, and every touch.

Each thought brings you .. ctoser to my soul.

Till it seems I am no more myself

Rut ypu, all you with· hope and tears and longing· in my·neart:.

Waiting- ·

Wild, wide and searching'"

Like a candle in the dark.

Eager, earnest, watching

For a gesture or remark.

['"assive, plairitive waiting

Till my heart sha ll reach its mark~ .

A · Wave '

Serpent like you flash your h·ead above the blue deep; yoor home:.

Spit forth your foam, recoil , and spring once more upon the rocks: .

With mighty heaves you sweep the sand before yon, .

Suck back all in ·your wake and surge again.

You lash the shore, pounding, pounding, pounding,

As if you thooght the earth· w.ould part at your command.

QUILL & 'QUAIR',

MAY, 1941

Spring Will Come James Stuart

And Spring will come. Blue waters run, Green grass will leap To the white sun.

The crowS will fly, Sticks in their bills, To build their nests On beechy hills.

The cows will graze On greening meadows; Kildees will leave Lean flying shadows.

Black snakes will coil Among horse bones That amalgamate With sun-bleached stones.

Lizard will lie On the dead log And catch his flies Like the green frog

And gnats will flock Around moist eye; By pasture bars Under late dusk skIes.

And life ..... ill ~eel In pu Ising mood Like sap that flows In April wood.

And the snail will crawl On rotted log; Weaned rabbits will hide From the hound-dog.

But it will be Spring! This glorious Spring! The wind so bright. Birds on the wing.

to

Bird full of song-, Snake full of love; The trees will leaf, . Stars high a.bove.

Spring will be ga~;

Where fallow lands Await the seeds F"om soww· hllnds, .

The higli white·top, It.. will be where The heavy corn crop Stood last year.

Grapevines will Iwine Among the snags; Wrens will huild there With sticks and rags.

Wild flowers will bloom Beside the rocks With mountain daisy And wild phlox.

The dark blue violets W ill burst Ihrough mold Of fungus leaves To wind·bright gold _

Bursl through the sun And the blue light; Blue fing-ers in The blue·day light.

Lovers will walk By blithesome pair Where wild plum blossoms Scent the air -

They say so much Of youthful chatter Groundhogs will wonder What is the matter.

I tell you life Will be on the wing In the maple sap And it will be Spring.

QUILL & QUAm

Friendship

Pau l \Vheeler

William lifted his e lbows off the top of th e pin ball machine and admiringly watched Jim Colbert shift his heavy bulk toward the mach­in e.

"Hi, Jim." ° He ll o, Bud." "You gonna donate a nickel to the cause?" " Aw, I thought I might invest a li t tle. H ey, Blondie! bring me

a coke." "How's football today?" "Same old stuff. I went through those sissy freshmen like a rock

through wet paper. Doggone it, standing her r; beatin' my gums while this robber eats me up. I'll git that number one this shot!"

"Boy! they sure do make these machines hard to beat, don't they ?" "Yea, I reckon. Well, I'll be darned, missed that number one

again ." "Say! they ha, en't brought your cok e yet." "By golly, that's right. Come on, Blondie, shake a leg and get me

that coke. H oly catfish! did you see that blonde wot just breezed through the door?"

"Why sure, I know her." " Don ' t f eed me that stuff. Freshie ; I don't even know her myself." "No stuff, I really do. She's from Mount Doford ; li ves right across

the street from me. You wanna m eet 'e r?" "Say, Blondie, make that two cokes."

Q&Q

Grand Canyon National Park

SU7 .. un ne Chullll

W e were almost there! The ca r did not seem so crow ded, nor the sun qu ite so hot. The drivel' came to an abrupt halt as if he was afraid to cross the barrier thro\v n so resolute ly and positively in front of us by the arched sign which announced our arrival at Grand Canyon National Park.

After a brief discourse with the guards we star ted ou r drive down t he pine-shaded highway of th e southeast entrance.

Everyone in the party was either sub-consciously th inking of what he would say when he stood on the brink of this great gulch, or practic­ing ejaculations on each other.--I wonder if the American Tourist is

MAY, 1941 11

12

the on ly t ravel er in the world who feels duty-bound to express an op in­ion on anything a nd everything he sees or experiences.-A II our minds were just about satisfied with the impression the canyon was going to

make on US t when all of a sudden we turned a last curve. Nobody said a word fo r thirly seconds; then one of the back doors

opened slowly but qu iet ly,--so mebody in t he fr ont seat asked for t he ca mera and we solem nly unloaded.

All the exclamations which "'e had (elt wonld "become liS" in the

sigh t of our fellow-gazers remained unsaid. As we stood and looked

into th e ha zy mist which t he thin, hot air shed over the canyon au'' eyes became focussed on some distant formati c.n . The purple depths

swallowed the rushing torrent-that was the Colorado River--far below

us. Not a sound issued frc·m any voice in that realm of qui et. The

only noise was t he purring of myriads of cr ickets back out of scmewhere, and the occasional swish of the hot, t hin air rush ing through the wing­

feathers of a diving cliff-swallow.

Q & Q

Homeward Thought

Ruth Steele

I sit and muse, and a lit of t he darkness,

Out of the starless night, Comes th e sh riek of the engine­

Far-carr ied and mournfu l,

Turning me home,

My tho ughts fly swifter,

Even swifter than that night-borne cry,

When out of the darkness, Far-carried and mournful,

Comes the sh ri ek of the engine.

Ever, till my sun sinks low,

And my feet grow weary, grow heavy,

Will come the shriek of the engine, Fal·-carried and nl0urnfu i,

Turning me home.

QUILL & QUAIR

Spring Fever· Two Versions

I Gr'ace Rayl

Spr'ing f ever , that's what I have, I t ry to translate ~khiller and I think of Lou isiana, I study wea ves for textiles, but I dream of Panama, Now I'm trying to read Arnold , but somehow I think of that island in the river at home. It's ab vut a mile from either shore, T here's a smooth sandy beach there with the clear warm water lapping at its edges, Tug boats go puffing by, blvwing their lazy , muffled, rath er hoarse signals to a ferry about a mile away. A canoe drifts down the slow stream, its only occupant lyin g flat in the bottom, not bothering to paddle Or guide his way.

I think about these things because I'm tired now, tired of schoo l, lessons, work, and colds. My throat hurts and my arms ache. I would love to be on the island, and, after a cool swim in the ri ver, just lie there, full length 0.11 the deep warm sand , and feel the late June sun burning my back. I want lazily to bunow my toes in to the rich sand, to lay my head on my folded arms and let my hair fall over my face , protecting it from the sun. I g uess 1 j ust want to be lazy; forget about Schiller; fo rget about clubs a nd people, I guess I just want to lie there and may­be go to sleep or perhap;; let rambling memories drift through my mind - memories of duties that I won't have to do, now .0 1' eve r. Maybe ] won't think, Maybe I won't s leep, Maybe ] '11 just lie there in the warm, penetrating SUD.

II Beverly Var'n ey

The warm, spring s unlight s ifted in through the window and I s lumped in my seat. Why go to the trouble to sit up straight when lQunging in my seat was so comfortable? Anyway the professor had ]lot yet arrived. Screams of th e children as they played and the rumb­ling of roller skates as they glided over the sidewalk greeted my ears and my mind was filled_ with wonder as to how anyone co uld feel so energetic on a day like this.

I idly flipped the pages of my notebook and wished that the profes­so r would not show up . It was so nice not to think. Even the know­ledge that I had come to class w ith out my assignment did not worry m e, W hy worry over anything when such a f ee ling of contentment filled my w hole b eing ? It was fi ve minutes past the hour. I closed my eyes and breathed a s il ent prayer that the professo r would be so late that] co uld leave before he got ther e. Visions of my room flashed before my eyes, anel it seem ed to contain only one piece of furn iture, a bed.

MAY, 1941 ) 3

Never had it looked so inviting. .A .U10Venl ent of .my arm caused :tI\y pencil to roll aff Oll the fl oo r, but I did not be,ther to stoop and piek 'lt: up; afte r ali I had anot he r one. Anoeher student came into ,tlleU'QQOl, but I did not look up. The thoug:b.t of spring vacation ca me to my mind; I'll sleep till noon every day--Sunday I won' t bothe r to go. to Sun­day School; I'll j ust s lee p until it's time for 'me to catch the train. To­vigllt I'll go to. bed at e ight o'c lock a nd just da re an y of the boys to come around to my 1'0001 and want me to play t.ridge . I ' ll lock my door earl y tonight. Just as th e word "door" weot through my bra in the door to the class room swun g open and in walked t he professor. With great effort I st ra ightened my .elf in my cbalr and prepared for a forty-minute nap with my eyes ope n. '

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My SOD, My Son

lI'Iervel Hanes

"My, my! Tbis i. a fioe tiole for a boy of sixteen to he gettiog in_ lt's nearly eleve n o'c lock . I suppose you've been out with that gang of rascals down the street. Just look at you! That suit has no more trease than you r fatber's pajamas. And yo ur tie is swinging out of your pullove r. There's no use to buy good clothe!> for you-" .

"Please, Mother, if you will listen for o.ne minute I can explain everything . Ton ight was t he regular meeting of t he 'Swing Club'--"

" 'Swing Club'! 'Swing Club ', indeed! I suppose you call the ac­tions you young folks go through dancing. Jumping around like monkeys. In my day people would bave been thrown out of a ball roc-m fo r acting like t hat."

"But Mother, we like to danee. I know the style of dancing has changed. Say, guess ~v hat! Kay and I won the jitterbug contest tonig ht. I about forgot it, but I was e lected president of the club , too."

" President of the club, my eye. If you'd spend a lit tl e more time on your history and biology you'd get along better. To loo k at you, peop le wou ld never think your father is the leading lawyer here. When he was in coll ege he graduated with highest honors. I just wonder if you'll ever graduate f rom hig h school--"

"\Ve got five dollars as prize mooey , so we went dOW11 to th e 'Krazy Kat' a nd had a milk shake and-"

"All you want to do is sit down at t hat place and spend YOUI' fath­er's money playi ng 'Beat Me Daddy" by Ray Miser or someone like that! Oh ! I don't k no w why r eve n talk to you. Now go upstairs and go to bed. I'll have a hard eno ug h time getting yo u lI.p without sitting up till twelve."

"Yes, Mother. I'm going, I'm going_'·

QUILL & QUAIR

MAY, 1941

Poems By Dorothy T uroer

End Of Day

Day draws her shin ing garments about her

And 'yalks away toward the distant west, A proud woman who gracefully Takes her leave in a throng. Evening with its tranquil beauty Moyes behind in measured step, An echo of remembered music That is sweet and still.

Sunset

~unset--

A pane of molten glass,

Myriad-hued and glowing,

Against the blue.

Dark-

A shadow creeping over the hill s,

Dulled and gray-clad,

Lifts her long hands,

And the shattered brightness

Falls into the stars of evening.

Dreaming

Smoke curling lazily up to the sky

Is a feeling of sweet sadness,

Of searching for unknown, far-off things.

Imageries of a moment of madness.

Make me yearn for something that is not,

Create a pensive mood that charms

And a longing to capture elusive life,

And crush it in my eager arms.

15

16

P oems For Children

Drinking Cnp Animals

• Jeanette Thoma.

The animals on my drinking cup Are always happy and gay. They never tire of their silver home, And they frolic all the day.

It's hoppity here and skipp ity there,

They never quit the chase; They're playing when I go to bed,

And playing when I wake.

I love the animals on my cup Because they never whimper. ] never have to put them to bed Or bother to give them supper.

Eunice Lewis

Ed And I

When Ed and I were sick in bed, Ed's head, it ached and aohed, he said. 1 wanted to look and look and dream, 'Cause the bed was soft and felt so clean.

_1 sa w a big giant so grim and tall. Ed looked too, but he saw a wall. I heard fairies dancing on the pane, But he only heard the dreary old rain.

The magic carpet oame and the lovable thief,

Ed saw the wind blow in a brown leaf. They said I was sick and out of my head. ] sometimes wonder what was ailin' Ed.

QUILL I< QU.AIR

MAY, 1941

Susie's Chores

Susie, bring my Sunday shoes;

And Susie, 1:Jrin!l' my socks. , n's Susie t his . and Susie that; .

And Susie, brush my wide brimmed hat:.

Susie, hurry and make the beds,

And Susie, sweep the floor.

It's Susie this and Susie that, .

As soon as I enter the door:.

Q & Q'

Who Am I

Eleanor Bowling

Why I look so different I do not know;

It all seems strange hut I know it's so.

Some say; I look like my Aunt Nell,

While others say they can not tell.

Mother says I have eyes like her brother

Charley,

And Father claims my ears ' are those of Uncle

Marley;

All these remarks are confusing, you ' see,

For when I cry, they say I look exactly like me.

17

Confidante

Francis Proclor

T was dragged from a heavy sleep by persistent hands. r opened my eyes and stared groggily at bel' shifting back and forth in front of me.

" I can't s leep . 'ha" en't been as leep a ll night," I heard her say. " Why not·-whllt time is it ?" 'mur mured muffledly with a distant

fe eling of irritation. " Two-th irty," she ans wered, and I hummed into my pillow and

settled into cloudy comfort.

'" couldn't sleep. I'm worried to death-" she began nervously. My cozy clc.uds waved a fond farewell and I was awake, though re­luctantly so.

" Whl', what's t he ma tte r ?" I ma naged to inquire. And she talked an d told me her tro ubl es and walked about in II

circle in the center of th e room . I liste ned and was fascinated by the movement of her figure forward. around, and back-forward, around, and back. Her hail' was up and the net on her head gave her a look of ridiculous fumit)'. She wore a white terry·c1oth robe with wide sleeves and as she trudged about, head hunch ed ove r, she reminded me of a teapot for some unknow n reason-maybe the shape of the robe .. a nd t hrough my mind ran .. "I'm a little teapot, here's my spout-· turn me up and pour me out." But I heard all that she said and I put in an occasional wljrd to reassure her of my attention . I was only im­personally interested-her f ears were to me of trifles-she was a perennial worrier a nd ; ,',as weary of her alarms. I mentally stuck myse lf with a pin for not being more concerned over her distress. Upon my interruption she would stop and standing stil l ·.,'ru ld gaze at me with glassy eyes as though her brain were goi ng on wh', re her voice lef t off. Wh en I had finish ed she wou ld continue her pilgrimage about the roo m a nd rush on with her clear, ringing voice, the demon­strative tilt of the head, and the eyes so wide and gray in the gravity of her feelin gs.

She went on and on, and' wondered, " Is she out of her head 01' is this the part she never cared to divulge before 7 How wonderful and sensib le and intelligent we be till a member of the opposite sex comes along. If only this one were II littl e more worthy of her anxiety."

Finally she had ex hausted herse lf with a wild fl ow of disconnected, yet se lf-revealing chatter. She left and I gazed out the window in empty wonder. I t hought of the beautifu l sleep I had been doused in

18 QUILL & QUAlR

and I tugged the CO\'ers up closely and lying on my stomach strove for sleep. I Ic.nged for it deeply and I hum-drummed it into my head that I should blot out all th ought. J grinned because J caught myself lying there as if expecting sleep to turn the corner and clasp me by the hand ""d J t o acknowledge my su rrender. I knew that when it did com~ I would not kn ow it was there. and J sniffed distastefully up on such de­privation. I rem Embered someth ing she had said, and I stared sea rch­ingly out the window, and the purple hills were outlined by a gray-blue mist lifting itself fr em the earth. J cou ld not sleep. There was no use in my try ing. Sc· I lay and thought and recited all the poetry knew and I 52W a golden sunrise as it arose from behind a hill.

Q&Q

I Listen With My Eyes

Sa ll y Beny Sr>:ilh

For a long time music was only a mass of sound to me. The only emotions that affected me while listening were disappointment and confusion . No clear melody or harmony was distinguishable. It was 2.S if J had been given a beautiful house, exquisite in every detail , but with no key, and the interior cou ld be admired only through curtained windows. I was on the outside of music. There was no losing of self; there were just two ears, straining and not hearing. I did not know what was wrong until late one night when I was listening to some symph onic recordings. J was sitting in a comfortable chair by the fir e with my eyes clcsed. s(o und but th e music.

easie r to understand.

E\'CI yone else was in bed. and there was 11 0

Suddenly the music was more beautiful. and The notes seemed to form patterns on a dark

backgrou nd with the drums a low, black mass. The notes from the clarinets and the trumpet~ cut in piercing silver flashes across the

entire screen. The saxophones and the 'cellos flowed in undu lating go lden cu rves sprayed by showers of flute notes. The vio lins formed horizontal lines, sometim es dark-hued and wide, and then thin and sil­ver. Th e horns were a rather indistinct blur, flecked by the round

dots of the piano, and the oboe was a wa\'ering thread of light coming

directly from the screen. The tempo increased, and the patterns be­came more animated, then grew paler and moved more slowly as the music r~tard~d. The last note faded and the screen grew blank.

Ever since, notes have had color, and melodies have flowed in curves and flashed in lines. When I listen to music, I see it as well as hear it. That is why I say, I listen with my eyes.

MAY, 1941

Dory Died Ruth Steele

Dory was our garbage woman and now she is dead. She died giv­ing birLh to her LwenLy-firsL child . Poo r old sou l. Harvey was her husband. Venomous old Harvey. He sce ms to miss her.

F or yea rs I had known 001 y. I had heard her eve ry morning about six o'clock, rattling down the street w ith Harvey and a few of her child ren . Then in Lhe leong-drawn summer evening. I would see thcm return. Harvey sat with Dory atop the reeking, creaking wagon while Dory urged on their weary old horse. The children-wild , tow-headed, filthy-sat with legs dangling from t he back of the wago n.

Dory looked like an Indian . She wore musty brown pants and a shirt of somewhat Lhe same color. greasy a nd dirty. She parted hCl­coarse black hair in the middle and wo re it in long swinging braids. Her face was dark and furrowed, fierce and distrustful.

Boys taunted her, misLreaLed her children. She spat her tobacco juice at them and cursed them . Others just looked at her with curiosity. She returned their gaze with candor. On Su ndays, she often swaggered down the sLreeL with her children. laughing and point­ing. And Lh ey always stopped for a bottle of beer at Doc Stout' _ Th ey enjoyed it, one at a Lim e a nd loudly.

I r emember the Lime Dory decided to se ll "products," soap', flavor­ing, lotic-ns, powder. She put on a dress and run-over shoes, took the hea vy case of samples and set out, two of her little boys and two of hel­liLtle g irl s at her heels. Though she t r udged for miles she was not successful. Whether rebuke hurt her more than her shoes, I can only guess, but she put back on her Le nnis shoes and returned to her garbage wagon.

Th en a car rammed inLo Dory' s wago n. It was Dory who was hurl. She was pregnant and h er baby came earl y. Dory died. H er eleven living ch ildren she left to the world. the fruits of her life. Now they have a shabby li ttle t ru ck wiLh Harvey aL the wheel. Th ey must miss her, fe r now they musL ri de by themselves. Now t hey must sweat and dig for th emselves. And old Harvey seems to miss bel' too .

Q&Q

Book Reviews Loena Fyffe reviews Babbitt, by Sinclair Lewis

Babbit is a satire on the typical middle-aged business man. George F. Babbitt is a real estate agent living with his family of wife, daughter, and son, in an Illinois city. Th1"Oughout the story the following occurren­ces are related--his rise in political fame; popu larity in his own com­munity; affair with a young widow; downfall in politics; r ealization of his situation; and tbc fi na l scttling down to usual bomelife.

20 QUILL & QUAlR

Lurley Will oughby revi ews The Native'. Return, by Louis Adamic The Native'. Return is a very striking account given by Louis

Adamic of his \'isit to his nati ve country, Yugo-Sla via , after an absence of ninet een years. H e m eant to make only a brief stay there, but he fo und the place and p-eople so absorbing that he spent all his time abroad in Yugo-Slavia . H e r eported ·.hat the people wer e oppressed greatly by the Belgrade r egime under A lexander and strugg ling with poverty. yet hoping for a change.

Marian Louise Oppenheim er reviews A Time Will Corne, by Rachel M. Varble

New York in 1900 provides the setting for Rachel Varbl e's first novel. The three daughte rs-in-law of old Schward Wright, grown rich through his shrewd dea lings in New York real estate, are its cen­tral characters. Rich in characterization a nd pungent in its writing. the tory shows the women of the Wright household struggling to be f ree from th e domination of their men, fighting without weapons against the impregnable mal e who is safe behind an armor of conven­tion, wealth and law.

Dorothy Bailey reviews Trees of Heaven, by Jesse Stuart The story of Tarwin and Subrina lasts from autumn until autumn. H e

is the son of a mou nta in farmer, and she the daughter of a drunken squatter.

Memorable scenes are a square dance at the so rghum mill , hog­killing time, and Subrina preaching and s inging, as she buries the dead lambs under the trees of H eaven.

Charles Rice reviews The Citadel, by A. J. Cronin The book deals with an impoverished young doctor and his struggle

to rise in the world . H e started out with a flaming idealism which stood out in sharp contrast to the average English doctor's practices.

He lost one position after another because he refused to sacrifice his rugged individuality to the whims of the conventional peopl e whom he wished t o serve.

His lo ve for money finall y overca me his idea ls for a time but at the end we find him setting out again with undaunted courage to try to accomplish his aims of ear li e r life.

Irene McLin Keller revi ews Sapphira and the Slave Girl, by W ilia Cathe r

In a once-upon-a-time tone, the story is told of Sapphira, the invalid wife of H enry Colbert. a Virg inia miller. She heartless ly persecuted Nancy, an att racti ve mulatto slave, whom she wrongly suspected of misconduct with her husband . With the he lp of Mrs. Blake, an abolit­ionist, Nancy escaped into Ca nada. In an old-fashioned epilogue, Willa Cather describes Nancy' return to Virginia twenty-five years later.

MAY, 1941 2 1

The Strike

E.I"" ml Cli lle

Grandma J ones peeked over the top of her tortoIse-rimmed spec­

tacles at grandpa coming home with his dinn er pail under his arm. "W hat's the matter, pa, that you ail' gettin' in so earll"! 'Tis onl y

nine-thi rty. Reckon you a in 't feelin' so good, huh '!"

"No, rna, it ain't that, I can't work. Them rascals have called

another strike. Reck e,n they done forgot how they almost starved

through the other strike--in summer they et ra w cabbage and in winter

t hey jest et what they cou ld steal. ' reck e· n it's got where a ma n can't

learn by experience." "My gracious!" exclaimed grandma, "I'd never dreamed of a trike.

We're gettin ' plenty of worl< rnd good pa l'. 1 don't see what e lse they

would want fer. Too, that company's treatin' everybvdy jest like

a baby." "Well , rna , it's like th is--it's them young fe ll ers with t heir radical

idea.s. Ain 't none of us old ones into it. I reckon we wuz n't raised

on unio n terms and princip les. All them men can talk about is closed

shop and collective barga ining ."

"What's them things'!" "L-reckon them_means_I think they m2a n you have to belong

to the union before you can work." "Well , pa, couldn't everybody jine lIP wit h the union and go ahead

in peace? I reckon it a in 't no sin to be in one of them uni ons. I recke,n, though, it's a disg race to have to be a brother to such good-for­

nothing trash that they've got in that union that ain't even working at

the brick-yard. There's them Littles--' reckon they're the very out­

laws that ambushed and shot off poor old Uncle Jim 's leg." "YP.., m .. , you're right. Here yo u go out and pay in big initiation

fees dnd monthly dues for t hese here e, rganizers and big shots to sp ruce around on. 'Ne never hear from that money again or any good it does-jest payi n' it out to make men lose the ir jobs by strikin', Ma, it ain't noth in' but a big racket, and America still lets it go on. I' m sure not goin' to support 'em . I' ll not jine it! No Sir! And, too, as you say, it's a disgrace to be with some of them fe ll ers.

"Ma, do you know what the Bible says about that?" "No, what does it say? " Grandma stretched her neck forward .

" 'Be ye not un equa lly yo ked with unbe li evers.' Ma, I've settled

it fer a ll times. You and me air headin' fer t he farm."

QUILL & QUAIR

Among Our Contributors

Jack Miller

Lavina Vv aters, freshman from Palmyra, Illinois, is wnllt you might call a girl abou t the campus. She belongs to seven organ '.zations in­cluding th ree music groups and three school pUblications. She has achieved t he distinction of havir.g work in every Ql' i11 and Quai" issued since she came to school.

Fra ncis Proctor, 'iSa nci e" to her friends. is a hc/me tow n girl , claim­ing Morehead a', her residtnce. She is a junior, a Political Sciencc major, and is not quite certain about her c lu bs. Hasn 't attended any in so long that s he thinks she's probably been struck from membership rolls.

Eunice Lewis, popular junior from Morgan County, is majoring in Comm erce and Physical Education. She naturally belongs to Kappa Mu, the Commerce Club, and Women's Athletic As ociation. Her hobb ies include outdoor sports and, od dly enough . reading. Probably for rainy weather.

Kay Palmer, now of Morehead, is a veteran contributor to school publications. She was editor of the high school paper at Mount Ster­ling, member of the staff of the Crimson Rambler, school newspaper of Transylvania Co ll ege, which she attended formerly. and a cc, ntributor to the Transy lvania lite rary magazine. She is at present a junior at M. S. T. C. and claims writing, es pecia lly of free verse, as her hobby.

Mervel Hanes, a freshman pre-medical studen t, is a graduate of Ezel High School. He is a newcomer to the pages of Quill and Quair but is active on t he campus, belonging to Beta Zeta (Biology Club), Future Teachers of America, and the Raconteur staff. In s pite of hav­ing such weighty subj ects as Chemistry and Biology for major , he s pends his spare time co ll ecting match book covers.

Marjorie Brandhorst really came a long distance to go to school in Morehead. H er home is in Schenectady, New York. She is a sopho­more a nd a Comm erc e major. Although a newcomer to Quill and Quair, she was active in high school literary circles.

Pau l Whee ler is a p"e-engineering student from Morehead. He is a graduate of Breckinridge Trainjng School and a member of Mu Phi (Physics and Math Club). Says Kipling is h is favorite author but will read adventure stories by anybody.

Beverly" Jug" Varney is better known on the football field than in t he writing field, but here he pro\'es what a versatile chap he is. He ha ils from Williamsport, W. Va .. is a senior and member of the Cam­pus Club.

Grace Rayl, nominated by Raconteur a most beautiful girl on the campus, is an English maj or, a junior, and comes from 'way out west

MAY, 1941

:JOHNSON CAMDEN L18R MOREHEAD STATE UNIVERS/~RY

MOREHEAD, KENTUCKY

23

in Paducah. Quite a combination. She's known as Snow White by the cafeteria patrons who respect her eagle eye and unerring accuracy in calculating what thp.y owe for a meal.

Dorothy Turner is a home county girl, coming as she does from Elliottville in Rowan. She is now rated a5 a senior and has spent the last three years terct ';ng ~,hoo l. Miss Turner is majoring in English and Sociolrgy.

Lyle A I,,'ams, enc of the Indiana boys, is from the town of Hunting­ton in that state. He is a Music major, and in addition to the musical organizations, belongs to Beaux Arts Club. He has had a previous cont.ribution published in Quill and Quail' and much is expected of him

in 1 he future. Sally Betty Smith's name is now familiar to our readers for she has

contributed one or more literary efforts to every issue of Quilt and Quair this year. She's from Hindman, Kentucky, and is an English major. Belongs to every club on the campus from Debating on down. She has many hobbies including dancing with which she amuses the denizens of Fields Hall.

Garnet Vaughan Kane is one of the most promising young poetesses of M. S. T. C. She is only a so phomore but has a lready had severa l poems published by the Readers' Forum of Antioch Press. She says Walt Whit man is her favorite poet and inspiration .

Ruth Steele, of Raceland, comes f rom a railroading family, her father being a conductor [.n the C. & O. She formerly attended Ash­land Junior College, has taught school, and is majoring in Elementary Education. Her hobbies are writing and drawing.

Suzanne Chunn comes all the way from Woodbury, Georgia , and

has attended Breneau College. James Stuart of Riverton is the brother of Jesse Stuart, who wrote

Tree. of Heaven reviewed in this issue. J ames had a story called "Jugs" in our October issue, and has published in other magazines.

Jessie Stewart of Roxana, Letcher County, not Je se Stuart of Green­up County, has attended Jackson Junior College and is now a junior.

Q &. Q

Ode To The Mountains Jessie Stewart

Blue are the hilts of my mountains Green are the hilts in the Spring And my heart beats fast in rapture With the notes the blue bird sings_ Gay are the bright flowers budding The streams laugh by me in glee; Cares are as light in the mountains As the breezes in. the trees.

lOr !I1t1r1er, Beller Tosle ont! Cooler Smoking

FIRST is the word fo r everything about Chesterfields . . . from the right combination of the world 's best cigarette tobaccos to the most modern manufacturing methods. You will find in Chesterfield everything you want in a cigarette.

ELLEN DREW Ches terfie ld 's Gi rl of the Month

cllrrenll y sta rring in Paramount's " Reaching for 'he $un. "

More and more . . . Chesterfield is called

the smoker's Cigarett~ .fdti# M IlLi 0 N s~ ......... ;:~~

JOHNSON CAMDEN Ll BRAR)

MOREH EAD STATE UNIVERSI TY MOREHEAD, KENTUCKY.

Copyns hl 19-11, l IG(l£TT &: MytH TOliCCO Co.